


You can't spell 'fuck it' without I.T.

by clottedcreamfudge



Series: Amicus Curiae [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec has a hip tattoo, Alec is bad with people, Alec works in IT, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Apologies, BAMF Alec Lightwood, Banter, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I'm back to my usual mischief, Infiltration, Kidnapping, Law Enforcement, Lawyer Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus is totally into it, Magnus is very bad with technology, No desk sex but also it nearly happens so think of that what you will, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rescue, Texting, Together they are great, i don't make the rules, like mostly, some mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clottedcreamfudge/pseuds/clottedcreamfudge
Summary: “You’re a laugh a minute, Mr IT Man,” Magnus mutters. The eye roll from the other end of the line is practically audible.“It’s Alec,” the voice says. “Now do you want your screen back or not? It literally doesn’t matter to me either way.”“You know what I like most about you, Alec? It’s your wonderful telephone manner and easygoing nature.”“I’ve been told I have a sparkling personality,” Alec intones, and Magnus bites back a grin. This shouldn’t be doing it for him but he’s intrigued, and that doesn’t usually bode well. “Now shut up and let me fix your computer.”“Direct too,” Magnus quips, moving the phone to his other hand so he can take back control of his mouse. “You must look like a potato to balance this out.”“Potatoes are neat,” Alec says blandly, then launches into a step-by-step explanation of how to reorient Magnus’s computer screen before Magnus can fully process the reference.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Amicus Curiae [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164887
Comments: 257
Kudos: 480





	1. You come to me, on the day of my Hawaiian vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmodeus hands his son the case he's accepted for a local mob boss, then waltzes off to Hawaii with his barely legal girlfriend. Magnus hates his life, and also his laptop is trying to crush his spirit even further. 
> 
> IT to the rescue.

Magnus likes some aspects of his job at Edom & Associates a lot. He likes being right - it is literally one of his favourite things to be - and he also likes putting together a solid, watertight case; he likes convincing people he’s the smartest person in the room, and it doesn’t matter too much whether or not that’s the objective truth provided it’s believed. 

There are other aspects he _doesn’t_ like, and several of those are rearing their ugly, morally-reprehensible heads today.

“I’d take the case on myself,” Asmodeus says smoothly, tossing the file onto his son’s desk like it’s a newspaper clipping and not something that’s about to ruin the rest of his week, “but of course Amanda and I already have plans.”

Amanda is Asmodeus’s most recent girlfriend; emphasis on the ‘girl’. She’s younger than _Magnus_ , and even though this is no longer news when it comes to his father’s conquests, it’s still incredibly gross. Magnus really wishes he had enough fingers to count on his hands the number of his father’s partners that have been unable to recall dial-up internet.

“Plans that involve you leaving the continental US after taking on a case on my behalf?” Magnus asks mildly, wondering if it’s too early for the whiskey he has in his bottom drawer. It’s a slippery slope, but he’s fairly certain his soul will be unsalvageable once this case is over, so he might as well go down in alcohol-soaked flames. Asmodeus clicks his tongue and, annoyingly, leans across the desk to ruffle Magnus’s hair.

“We’ve had this trip to Hawaii booked for months,” he lies smoothly. It can’t possibly be true unless he booked it with his previous girlfriend, Trish, because Amanda only came onto the scene a few weeks ago. He and Asmodeus both know he’s just trying to crush Magnus’s spirit and stop him from taking on cases where people actually deserve to be defended. “Besides, I think you’re probably ready for a case this big,” Asmodeus says with a smile. Magnus is reminded of a crocodile.

“You’ve made your point,” Magnus says with a grimace, opening the file and staring at it like any of the words are going to actually sink in at 8am on a Thursday. “Go. Enjoy your holiday. Tell Amanda I say hey, or… whatever her favourite emoji is this week.”

There is a reason, Magnus thinks as his father leaves his office with a smirk, that he puts up with this shit. It’s difficult to remember sometimes, but he sort of owes a life debt to Asmodeus - in more than the traditional, “you literally helped give me life” way, unfortunately.

Initially, Magnus hadn’t known anything about his real father. He’d been raised by his mother and stepfather in Indonesia, and that had all been absolutely fine up until his stepfather had been called up and gotten his head completely turned inside out by the horror of war. He’d never been cruel to Magnus, nor to his mother, but he’d become a difficult person to live with after he’d been discharged.

When his mother had taken her own life, all that had changed. His stepfather blamed Magnus, and things took a turn for the worse. To this day, Magnus isn’t sure how Asmodeus had known what was happening - maybe he’d heard about his ex-wife’s death and felt some sense of duty to a son he’d never bothered to stick around for - but he’d turned up at the house part way through a beating that Magnus is now sure would have actually killed him in the end.

He’d been taken back to the US to be raised by nannies and taught the ways of his father’s business, and found out a few years later that his stepfather had passed away not long after his escape. He still doesn’t know how it had happened. He doesn’t think he wants to find out. Grief and trauma can make a person do unspeakable things.

So yeah, he’s here and defending the occasional complete shitbag because he feels like he owes his father… something. The best years of his life, apparently. His immortal soul.

But Magnus still can’t believe that he’s just been handed the case for a literal mob boss facing murder and arson charges.

⚣⌨⚣

There’s not a soul in New York over a certain age who doesn’t know the name ‘Dean Sellick’. He’s Brooklyn mob royalty, all slicked back hair and zero ethics, pockets bursting with blood money and the ear of many a crooked politician. If there’s a crime he hasn’t committed, Magnus thinks it must be pretty obscure; to the best of his knowledge the weasel’s never been caught fiddling with livestock, but that must be about the sum of his virtues.

Asmodeus has few scruples; this isn’t new information. This isn’t the first time Edom & Associates will have represented one of his kind (he remembers all too well the Valentine debacle), and Magnus sincerely doubts it’ll be the last. This is, however, the first time he himself has been forced into _being_ that representative, and after reading even one page of the file on his desk, Magnus really isn’t sure he can do it.

He closes it after glimpsing the words “industrial meat grinder,” given that he hasn’t had breakfast yet and there will _no doubt_ be pictures, shoving the file into a drawer to think about later. On Thursdays, Catarina brings in croissants, and if he doesn’t eat his immediately, Raphael and Ragnor will do their level best to remove it from him.

⚣⌨⚣

At 9am precisely, Catarina knocks on his door and then steps inside his office in a cloud of patisserie-esque perfume. On Thursdays, Cat beats out everyone else on the planet to become his number one favourite person.

“Dark roast, cream, three sugars,” she intones, putting down a cardboard tray of paper cups and sliding a very large coffee towards Magnus across the desk. This is shortly followed by a delicious-smelling paper bag, the appearance of which invokes in Magnus a Pavlovian reaction. “Almond croissant, plus a free sample of something the woman at the counter said was a ‘raspberry crown’. It was free, so you have to eat it.”

“The law is the law,” Magnus agrees with a nod, pulling the goodies towards himself and inhaling deeply. He only drools a little. “I’m going to need this today - thank you, Cat. As always, you are the most treasured employee in this building, and everyone else is trash.”

“Absolutely true,” she says firmly, then tilts her head sympathetically to one side. “Dear old dad again?”

“He’s taking Amanda to Hawaii, apparently,” Magnus says with a sigh, opening the paper bag and pulling out the raspberry crown. “Which means I’ve been saddled with my first mob boss case, involving the unholy trinity of murder, arson, and lying about both the murder and the arson.”

“Not sure that’s how groups of three usually go. Also, I thought it was Trish?”

“That was last month,” Magnus corrects, taking a bite of the raspberry crown and feeling marginally less awful. “Anyway, talk to me again after I’ve had half of this coffee and I’m sure I’ll come up with something far more creative. Right now I’m running on fumes. And some leftover spaghetti carbonara from Luigi’s that I inadvisably microwaved at one o’clock this morning.” Cat pats his hand consolingly before straightening up.

“You’ll be fine. You always land on your feet.” She shakes the other paper bags she’s holding, all of them rustling enticingly, and scoops up the remaining coffees in their cardboard tray. “Duty calls, Mags. You’re not the only one who struggles with Thursdays.” He waves her off with a smile, and by the time he’s drunk his coffee he feels halfway human again.

He turns on his laptop with a flourish and goes to type in his password - when he suddenly realises his screen is upside down.

“No,” Magnus says firmly, closing his eyes for a moment. “This is a pastry-induced hallucination. When I open my eyes again, my screen will be the correct way up, just the way God and gravity intended.” He opens his eyes. The screen remains resolutely cock-eyed.

Magnus is many things; he is generally kind, hardworking, and dedicated, to name a few shining examples. He is very good at beer pong, in spite of the fact that he abhors both beer _and_ sports (and the word ‘pong’ - it’s undignified). He was top in his class at Yale and passed the Bar with such flying colours that even _he_ wasn’t sure he hadn’t cheated. What Magnus is _not_ , is particularly computer-literate.

Which is how he finds himself on the phone to the IT department at 9.30am, it having taken him well over fifteen minutes to type in his own password and open up his desktop. The screen is still upside down. Everything is terrible.

 _“Edom & Associates IT department, can I take your login ID?”_ The voice is deep, bored, and actually a little bit sexy. Magnus has called IT more times than he’d care to admit, and this is _definitely_ not someone he’s encountered before.

“What’s my login ID?” Magnus asks, and the sexy voice sighs like Magnus is actually doing something to hurt him on purpose.

_“Your username?”_

“Oh!” Magnus says with a jolt of realisation. He probably should’ve known that. “It’s MB90001.” There’s some typing on the other end of the line before the voice speaks again.

_“Okay. Do you want a ticket reference for this call?”_

“That really depends on how long this is going to take,” Magnus says slowly. “I haven’t downloaded a virus or accidentally imported several tonnes of midget-based circus pornography onto my computer - my laptop screen is just upside-down for some reason.” Several seconds of silence follow this pronouncement.

 _“Computer files aren’t usually measured in tonnes,”_ the voice says with a mixture of frustration and horrified intrigue. _“Ignoring the rest of that sentence, does anyone else have access to your computer?”_

“Well, it stays in my office when I’m not here,” he admits, then frowns. “I am _usually_ here though. What a horribly depressing thought.”

_“Is your laptop password protected?”_

“Yes,” Magnus says proudly, because even _he_ knows you need to put passwords on things. He really doesn’t need anyone else knowing just how many photos of his cat are on his camera roll.

 _“And does anyone else know your password, sir?”_ Magnus ignores the fact that being called “sir” by a sexy, disembodied voice kind of does it for him.

“Well…” 

Now, here’s the thing; Magnus is very smart, but he is also very trusting. See: his relationship with Camille and his father, and his honest belief that everyone on the street to whom he has ever thrown a few dollars is definitely homeless (even that guy in the trench coat that looked surprisingly like Burberry). This trusting nature has been referred to by his friends as ‘worrying’ and ‘literally the reason you’re going to die one day, Magnus.’ His friends are a bit dramatic.

 _“Okay, this is the third time this week I’ve had to explain to one of you people that passwords should be kept private,”_ the voice says after far too much silence has passed. Magnus rolls his eyes, then realises the voice cannot see him. _Then_ he realises he knows exactly who’s done this to his laptop, and promptly forgets to be mad with this uppity stranger.

“Ah-ha!” he says triumphantly, snapping his fingers. “It was _Ragnor_. The little bugger, I _knew_ he was pissed about me winning the Mercer case last week. He lost thirty dollars on an office betting pool just because he thought I’d be too soft to get into a dumpster to find evidence.” He had abso _lutely_ been too soft to get into a dumpster to find evidence, but he _had_ been smart enough to pay someone to do it for him. So Ragnor can suck it.

 _“I’m not sure what part of that to focus on,”_ the voice says, sounding bewildered. _“Just… don’t tell people your passwords. I’ll talk you through turning your screen the right way round. And changing your password to something else.”_

“Can it be a variation on my _existing_ password?” Magnus asks hopefully. His existing password is ‘ChairmanMe0w’ and it’s easy to remember even when he hasn’t been adequately caffeinated.

 _“No,”_ the voice says firmly.

“You’re a laugh a minute, Mr IT Man,” Magnus mutters. The eye roll from the other end of the line is practically audible.

 _“It’s Alec,”_ the voice says. _“Now do you want your screen back or not? It literally doesn’t matter to me either way.”_

“You know what I like most about you, Alec? It’s your wonderful telephone manner and easygoing nature.”

 _“I’ve been told I have a sparkling personality,”_ Alec intones, and Magnus bites back a grin. This shouldn’t be doing it for him but he’s _intrigued_ , and that doesn’t usually bode well. _“Now shut up and let me fix your computer.”_

“Direct too,” Magnus quips, moving the phone to his other hand so he can take back control of his mouse. “You must look like a potato to balance this out.”

 _“Potatoes are neat,”_ Alec says blandly, then launches into a step-by-step explanation of how to reorient Magnus’s computer screen before Magnus can fully process the reference.

“I apologise for the brief moment when I thought you were just a sexy, slightly angry disembodied voice,” Magnus says sincerely once his problem has been fixed. There’s a strangled sort of noise on the other end of the line, and Magnus finds himself grinning briefly, before he realises this is probably harassment; the grin falters. “And I also apologise for saying you have a sexy voice, as accurate a descriptor as that may be.”

 _“It’s er… fine?”_ Alec says eventually, after what sounds like several sips of water and a minor crisis of self.

“You sound incredibly sure about that,” Magnus says drily. “If you’re going to take this up with HR, you may as well tell me now so I can flee the country.”

 _“That seems extreme,”_ Alec offers, sounding morbidly curious.

“Clearly you haven’t met Lydia.” Literally the only reason Lydia Branwell isn’t a lawyer is because she believes she can do better work in Human Resources; from what Magnus remembers of her from Yale, she could wipe the floor with him. It just so happens that she really likes arranging sexual harassment courses for people who look at their employees the wrong way, and curing the world of its evils one racial sensitivity training session at a time.

 _“Lydia seemed fine?”_ Magnus snorts.

“Lydia is incredible, but she would also chew you up and spit you out like day-old gum. Possibly crush you under her heel. It would all be very impressive and also terrifying.”

 _“Evocative,”_ Alec says, sounding a little winded, as though this conversation is giving him whiplash and he hasn’t had time to take in breath. 

Which is about when Magnus remembers that he has a job to do, and now that he’s got a working computer and a stomach full of baked goods and caffeine, he has very little excuse not to do it.

“While this has been absolutely delightful, Alec,” he says with a sigh, meaning every word though he doesn’t know _why_ , “I’m afraid duty calls. Loudly. There are several expletives involved.”

 _“Right… I’m sure someone else needs me to tell them their passwords shouldn’t be communal,”_ Alec says drily, and Magnus laughs.

“I have absolutely no doubt. Thank you for your help.”

 _“It’s my job,”_ Alec says curtly, and Magnus’s grin widens.

“Pity - I was going to send you a fruit basket. There would have been a ludicrous number of bananas. An obscene number, probably.” And there he goes again - Lydia is going to end up showing him that horrible two-hour video about workplace propriety. The first time he saw it was because Cat had slapped him in the cafeteria as a _joke_ ; the video had been one hundred times more excruciating, and Catarina had laughed every time she saw him for an entire week.

There’s a pause of a few seconds.

_“I’m allergic to kiwis.”_

Then the line disconnects.


	2. The Devil's in the emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus has to take his laptop over to the IT department for Alec to look at and - Well. Sacre bleu. Magnus is not okay.

Magnus wouldn’t ever say he’s a workaholic - mostly because he loves his apartment and cat too much to be here all the time, but also because he just doesn’t like the word itself. It was made up in the 20th century, just like the word ‘motel’, which is also horrible, and it gets thrown around by anyone who thinks that dedication to your job is somehow shameful or odd.

So the fact that Magnus is in his office at 7am with the cleaners has nothing to do with him being a workaholic, and everything to do with not wanting anyone to see him have a mental breakdown over whatever pictures no doubt accompany the words ‘industrial meat grinder’ in the Sellick file.

One very large coffee later, Magnus has gotten through several pages of the file, and is very glad he hasn’t had any breakfast. The meat grinder issue turns out to be pretty stomach-turning in itself, but it’s nothing compared to the case of Nicola Stewart.

Nicola was a five-year-old child whose life will never be the same after her house burned down, trapping her inside and giving her such severe scarring that she’s now blind. There are no prints, but traces of accelerant at the property suggest it was arson, as do a string of similar incidents in the area. Magnus isn’t a detective - while he can sometimes get incredibly involved in cases, it is technically only his job to _present_ the evidence - but he’s seen this kind of work from the mob before. Fires and other, pettier crimes are blamed on local youths and gangs (nearly all of them black, because it feeds into a certain narrative) and in turn, house prices in the area plummet. Interested parties then snap up residential and commercial property for a pittance, and start on redevelopment before the smell of ash has even dissipated. The mob makes a very tidy profit, and people with more money than sense get apartments with a dark history that they pretend is ‘local colour’.

Violent gentrification at its finest.

Magnus closes the file and his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a sharp exhalation of breath. Right now he really despises his father, who is no doubt sleeping off a night of mai tais and cocaine on a private beach somewhere, his barely-pubescent girlfriend wrapped around him like an advert for Playboy. Not that Magnus wants to be in that specific scenario, but he’s also kind of not into what he has to do _here_ either; he’d at least take the mai tais.

He sighs and goes to turn on his laptop, stumbling briefly over his new password before managing to successfully log in.

At which point his computer practically _hisses_ at him and promptly turns off.

Magnus stares at it.

“I’m starting to feel like this is a personal assault,” he says to nobody in particular, before turning the offending item back on again. This time he doesn’t even get as far as his password before the laptop is whirring and shutting back down. “This is an outrage,” he continues flatly. “Bested by my own belongings, and not a single mai tai. I’m not even sure what a mai tai is but I’m absolutely certain I deserve one.”

It’s 8am so the IT department isn’t even open yet, but he at least has access to the company server on his phone. Magnus flicks through the directory and finds a few names underneath the ‘IT’ heading fairly quickly.

“Alexander,” he murmurs, frowning at the first one he comes to. That has to be the ‘Alec’ he spoke to yesterday. Sexy voice; allergic to kiwis; quite possibly already at maximum capacity and unable/unwilling to deal with Magnus’s particularly charming brand of bullshit.

 _Tough_. Magnus taps on the email address and waits for a new message to open in Outlook.

 **From:** Magnus Bane <[m.bane@edomassociates.com](mailto:m.bane@edomassociates.com)>  
**To:** Alexander Lightwood <[a.lightwood@edomit.com](mailto:a.lightwood@edomit.com)>  
**Subject:** Laptop not upside down today I swear

> Dear Alexander,
> 
> I believe we spoke yesterday regarding my laptop woes, though I’m sure you’ve given guidance to plenty of wayward souls regarding their poor password protection since then. On that note, I remembered mine this morning, and also haven’t told anyone what it is yet. That’s almost 24 hours! I hope you will see this as the progress it so surely is.
> 
> Today I have encountered a new and exciting problem, wherein my laptop makes a sound like a cat being passed through a wind turbine, before shutting down completely. Both the noise and lack of access to my digital files are quite distressing.
> 
> I would appreciate any insight you are able to give, and await a response with rampant anticipation.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Magnus Bane LLB(Hons), J.D., ABA

While there is absolutely no doubt in Magnus’s mind that the email could have been shorter and more to-the-point, nobody has ever accused him of being succinct outside of the courtroom. And even _there_ , he allows himself a certain amount of flair, which is why Ragnor absolutely hates working on cases with him. (It’s also why Magnus does it so much when they _do_ have to work together. He has a whole row of truly outrageous cravats and pocket squares that only come out when he knows it’ll drive his friend mad.)

He opens up the file again and begins making notes the old-fashioned way, pencil flying across an A4 legal pad as he tallies up witness statements and starts to build a case against the DA’s office - which is, incidentally, the last thing he wants to be doing for this scumbag, but is sadly his job.

He’s in full swing, barely even flinching at the pictures anymore, when his desk phone rings. He glances at it, sees that it’s an internal number and answers with his name. Some people here answer with their extension, which he always thinks makes them sound like robots with designations; Ragnor _loves_ answering the phone with his extension. Also, Magnus has never seen him actually eat and _enjoy_ a pizza, so he has his suspicions.

_“No one person is this incompetent with computers.”_

“Hello to you too, Alexander,” Magnus says cheerfully, wishing briefly that his phone had one of those cords he could wind coquettishly round his finger. “Just a reminder that while I absolutely adore your telephone manner and enthusiasm for your job, not everybody will. Something to keep in mind.”

 _“Noted, Mr Bane.”_ Alec’s voice really is criminal; Magnus knows about these things. Also, he’s never been into being called by his surname, but that has changed with sudden and immediate effect. _“The problem you emailed me about - which, by the way, could’ve been summed up in literally one line - isn’t one I’m going to be able to fix remotely. Is it urgent?”_

“Desperately,” Magnus admits, taking a moment to glare at the offending piece of equipment. “I’m afraid I’m working on rather a big case at the moment, and while the paper file is delightful in its own way, I do prefer to work with something a little less Neanderthal. I’m sure you’re surprised to hear that.”

 _“I have some time this morning if you want to bring it over to the IT department,”_ Alec says with a sigh, as though there is literally nothing he wants less in the world than for Magnus to do that. _“I can see if it’s an easy fix.”_

“Darling, I’ll be there before you can say ‘exculpatory evidence’.”

 _“Yes, we IT consultants do struggle with words longer than two syllables,”_ Alec says drily, and Magnus kind of _adores_ him. He’s so grumpy - it’s like being on the phone with Oscar the Grouch. He can’t wait to meet him, though he has no doubt that Alec will follow the mould of every other IT worker he’s ever met; if he’s not at least a little anaemic and wearing a hot-sauce stained shirt, Magnus will be shook. 

It would probably be safer though. Magnus is a little shallow (he knows this, he owns it), so being faced with someone who’s nowhere near as attractive as his voice suggests will at least get him to tone down the overt flirting.

“I’m sure you’re very good at pressing control-alt-delete,” Magnus says shittily, the huff of breath on the other end of the line _more_ than adequate payment.

 _“If only it worked on people,”_ Alec says, before literally just… hanging up on Magnus. Like Magnus couldn’t (probably) get him fired. He wishes he were less delighted by this.

⚣⌨⚣

It takes him ten minutes to get to the IT department, primarily because he forgets where it is and has to ask Catarina; she looks at him so witheringly over the top of her computer that Magnus briefly wonders if she has a vendetta against all IT consultants, and he’s just never known about it. Perhaps one of them once deigned to use her favourite mug - the one that’s shaped like a cat and is, most importantly, twice the size of a regular coffee mug.

“What have you done to it this time?” she asks, and Magnus presses a hand to his chest in very real offence.

“I haven’t done _anything_ to it,” he says with a frown. “Technology doesn’t like me, which is unusual because everyone likes me. What I’m saying is, it’s not me - it’s the laptop.”

“I know you’re joking,” Cat says with a sigh, taking a long gulp of something highly caffeinated from a frighteningly tall and lurid can, “but are you joking?”

“If you can tell me where the IT department is then I’m definitely joking,” Magnus says obediently, which is how he finds himself on the other side of the building a few minutes later, staring at a door that says ‘Information Technology Services’ in surprisingly well-kept script. The letters don’t even have the decency to peel away from the glass in a show of mild neglect. It’s all very disappointing.

He knocks once then enters, because for all he knows there’s nobody even _behind_ this door. The IT department could be horrifyingly labyrinthine, with sub-departments Magnus doesn’t even know about yet; his grasp of technology is poor, yes, but he understands that there’s a fair amount to it. Servers and things. Flashing lights.

It turns out there _is_ someone behind the door, though Magnus doesn’t rule out the possibility of a labyrinth beyond this main room. They could be lulling him into a false sense of security.

Then he gets a good look at the person sitting at the desk, and… Yeah. If that’s Alec, Magnus _is_ shook.

“No please, just come right in,” the guy says sarcastically - then he looks up from his computer and _freezes_. “Um.” 

‘Um’ is pretty much what Magnus is thinking right about now too. Alec is, frankly, stunning; he must have been this instantly attracted to someone before, but when he racks his brain he comes up empty. Error 404: Information not found. Alec has dark, messy hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, and a mouth that Magnus is trying very hard not to think of as ‘porn-worthy’. But there - he went and thought it anyway. That’s never going away now. Even from a few feet away, Magnus can see that this guy is delightfully muscular, and there isn’t a single hot sauce stain on his shirt.

“Alexander, I presume?” Magnus asks, finding his voice after what feels like eons but was probably a handful of seconds. Presumably-Alexander blinks at him.

“Um, yes. Mr Bane?” Yeah, Magnus is really going to have to veto that from now on. It’s doing things to him and he really doesn’t want to be collecting further kinks at this stage in his life.

“Call me Magnus,” he says with a smile, marching forward a moment later and offering his laptop-free hand to Alec over the top of his multiple computer screens. Alec blinks again then takes the proffered hand for a firm, if slightly wary handshake; his hands are broad and warm, and Magnus is already so very, _very_ fucked.

“Magnus,” Alec repeats, and nope, that’s actually just as bad as ‘Mr Bane.’ Oh well. Magnus is just going to have to come up with a whole bunch more reasons to come over here, because he’s not sure he’s ever liked looking at someone this much in his life. “Did you want me to have a look at that or are you just… taking it on a walk?” He indicates the laptop clutched in Magnus’s other hand.

“Leopold likes to see the sights,” he says blithely, and Alec’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline as he takes the laptop from him.

“You named your laptop ‘Leopold’?”

“Literally just now, yes,” Magnus admits, and there’s a slight upward tick to the corner of Alec’s mouth that could almost be a smile, if one were to squint.

“Right.” Alec opens the laptop, and Magnus focuses on his hands like he’s going to be tested on them later. The laptop turns off as expected mere moments after being turned on, and Alec carefully turns the computer over to inspect something on the base that Magnus has no idea about. “It looks like there’s pastry in the fan,” Alec says flatly, squinting up at Magnus.

“No idea how that could have happened,” he lies breezily, grinning automatically in response to Alec’s deepening scowl. Eventually, Alec’s whole body relaxes slightly on a beleaguered sigh, and he pulls open a drawer in his desk to extract what looks like a very small torture device. Or possibly a hoover. It’s unclear.

“At least there’s no yoghurt in the keyboard,” Alec mutters to himself, plugging the device into the USB port of his computer and turning it on; it becomes apparent that it _is_ some kind of miniature hoover, as he begins his attempt to remove delicious detritus from Magnus’s laptop fan.

“Sorry, did you say yoghurt?”

“Not the weirdest thing I’ve found in someone’s keyboard, but yes,” Alec confirms, a haunted look passing briefly across his face. Magnus really wants to ask, but he’s afraid Alec’s dealing with some kind of horrible trauma. Was it lube? He desperately hopes it was lube.

“Yoghurt’s not even _good_ ,” Magnus says wonderingly, watching as Alec finishes up his hoovering and turns the laptop the right way round again. This time it turns on and _stays_ on, and Magnus feels a deep sense of relief, followed quickly by annoyance.

He’s going to have to keep finding things to break.

“Maybe don’t use your laptop as a plate in future,” Alec says severely, not even pretending to believe Magnus’s pastry-based lies.

“You’re not the boss of me, Alexander,” Magnus retorts as he takes his laptop back from Alec’s beautiful, distracting hands. He pauses, then adds, “technically _I’m_ the boss of _you._ ” Alec snorts and shakes his head.

“No, you’re not. Your dad is.” Magnus raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“So you know who I am then?” Alec looks a little bit caught out but regains his composure quickly, shrugging and focusing on something on one of his monitors.

“Kind of hard not to.”

“I am quite memorable,” Magnus concedes, which has Alec scoffing, but the tips of his ears are noticeably red. “So you’re actually just fine with back-chatting one of the secondary shareholders and Directors of the company? Good to know - I had previously assumed you thought I was a lowly paralegal and were adjusting your behaviour accordingly.”

“I’m really nice to the paralegals,” Alec says blandly, but he’s actually smiling a bit now and Magnus is a little floored by it. He imagines a full-on grin from Alec would give him a coronary.

“Well, thank you for this, Alexander,” Magnus says eventually, tearing his eyes away from the slight quirk of the man’s beautiful mouth. “I am forever in your debt. I’ll make the fruit basket considerably larger.”

“Or you could just not get pastry in your laptop fan again,” Alec suggests.

“That sounds like considerably more effort.”

“Of course it does,” Alec says with a sigh, but the shadow of a smile is still there even as Magnus leaves with a cheery wave.

When he gets back to his office, before he even turns on his freshly-vacuumed laptop, Magnus orders an unnecessarily elaborate fruit basket from a local store. No kiwis. Lots of bananas. He’ll probably regret it but, as Catarina and Ragnor like to remind him on a fairly regular basis, he gets kind of stupid around pretty people.

⚣⌨⚣

By the time Magnus is furiously blinking back sleep and considering the merits of accidentally losing the entire Sellick file, he’s in a much worse mood. There are more crime scene photos on the server than had been in the paper file, and Magnus hasn’t been able to eat all day for fear that he’ll bring it all back up; some of these are absolutely grim, and he knows this case barely scratches the surface of what Sellick’s done. What he’s _capable_ of doing.

It’s with a heavy heart and an empty stomach that Magnus makes his way home that evening. He feeds Chairman Meow, re-heats some nondescript leftovers in the microwave, and opens a bottle of wine.

He really isn’t sure he can do this.


	3. There are several ‘i’s in ‘infiltration’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only been a week but Magnus is pretty sure he can’t start his day without speaking to Alec. It’s all very lovely and pathetic.

Magnus isn’t sure how he gets through the next week or so, but it might have something to do with Alec, and the fact that he literally has to answer the phone whenever Magnus calls him. He should probably feel bad about that actually, but he’s pretty sure Alec’s bored to tears most of the time, and their phone calls get longer and longer without Alec ever telling him to shove off. As Alec had pointed out that day in the IT department, Magnus isn’t actually his boss, and he doesn’t owe Magnus shit; there’s no doubt in Magnus’s mind that Alec would hesitate for less than a nanosecond before telling him to take a hike, if he were so inclined.

It’s a week before his first in-person meeting with Sellick that Magnus calls him with an actual problem, the others all having been entirely fictional thus far.

“It won’t connect to the printer,” Magnus says as soon as Alec picks up, not bothering with a hello. It’s something he’s picked up from Alec, and he very nearly did it to one of the other Directors last week so he really, _really_ shouldn’t get in the habit.

 _“What won’t?”_ Alec asks, obviously trying to sound more annoyed than amused and failing miserably. Magnus feels his own mouth curve into a grin. _“Your pocket watch? Your collection of vintage Hitchcock movie posters?”_

“Alexander, would it cause you irrevocable damage to be helpful?”

 _“It’s possible,”_ he says thoughtfully, then clears his throat. _“Please tell me you’ve already checked if there’s a driver installed.”_

“I would love to tell you that,” Magnus says cheerfully, “but it would unfortunately be a lie. What’s a driver?” Alec actually swears at that, which is both delightful and horribly sexy. Magnus banks that one for later, though he isn’t proud of it.

 _“Is the printer at least on? Let me have this one thing.”_ Magnus gasps and presses a hand to his chest, which is stupid really because Alec can’t see him.

“The printer has to be _on_ for me to use it?”

_“I’m hanging up now.”_

“Yes, the printer is on, Alec. I’m not particularly computer-literate but I’m not a complete idiot.”

 _“You and I think of idiocy very differently.”_ He sounds scathing and fond, and Magnus likes him so much. This is awful. _“Okay, can I remote into your PC?”_

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said to me, darling. I’ve never heard ‘remote’ used as a verb before. Was that Spanish?”

 _“I can’t believe I speak to you voluntarily,”_ Alec says with a sigh, and then he talks Magnus through the process of allowing him remote access to the laptop, as though he didn’t just drop that absolute _bombshell_ out of nowhere.

Alec speaks to him _voluntarily._ Magnus had hoped, sure, but at the end of the day he’d still been making shit up just to speak to Alec every day, to tease him about his weird obsession with watermelon and to check if he’s picked up the most recent cat meme Magnus has emailed to him. He’s always been calling under the pretence of work, so really, Alec has to at least _answer_. 

_“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”_

“Yes,” Magnus says automatically, then clears his throat. “But also no. I’ve heard it both ways.” Alec makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a muttered comment on the relative wellness of Magnus’s brain, and he, an idiot, grins in response. “I heard the words, but the only ones that really went in were ‘laptop’ and every iteration of the words ‘the’ and ‘and’.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then a sigh, like Alec’s about to say something he’d rather not have to.

 _“Just… stay there. I’ll come to you.”_ Then he hangs up. He really does do that to Magnus with alarming frequency.

Magnus is prone to dramatics, so while he’s sure that angels don’t _actually_ start singing when Alec barges into his office, it sure as hell feels like it. 

Fuck. Alec is _tall_. The only time Magnus has ever seen him in person was as a result of the Pastry Fan Incident, and of course he’d been sitting down. Seeing Alec now, all grumpy and tall and _toned_ , shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows…? It’s a lot to deal with.

“Move,” Alec says without greeting him, pushing Magnus’s wheelie chair - and therefore Magnus himself - out of the way so he can hunker down in front of the desk and start doing tech-y things to Magnus’s laptop. He’s about to protest, perhaps offer Alec his own chair if he can convince his knees not to give out when he stands up, but then he realises how amazing the view is and just… forgets to do that. It is truly unfair that Alec looks _this good_ from every angle.

Lydia’s going to find out about this somehow and show him that horrible video, he just _knows_ it.

“You’ve literally been trying to print to your printer at home this entire time,” Alec says with a frustrated huff of breath, running a hand through his already wild hair and shooting Magnus a look that’s probably meant to be stern, but actually looks a little fond. “Also, you need to defrag your hard drive. How do you even use this thing? I’ve seen tech from the 90s that runs faster. I had a Gameboy with better processing power than this thing.”

“I only use it for scrolling through tedious PDFs and sending you memes,” Magnus says loftily, spinning in his chair so he’s facing Alec. “Why would I learn anything at all about IT when you’re apparently willing to swoop in like some sexy nerd hero every time I run into trouble?” Alec rolls his eyes and stands up, but he’s definitely blushing - like nobody’s ever pointed out that he’s hot enough to steam milk before.

“I didn’t _swoop in_ ,” Alec argues, folding his arms and apparently choosing to ignore the rest of that sentence. “Most people can at least figure out how to use TeamViewer. This was a last resort.” Magnus grins up at him and leans back in his chair, folding his arms in a mirror of Alec’s stance. He’s gratified to see Alec’s eyes move unconsciously over his biceps before he goes back to staring resolutely elsewhere.

“It felt very swoopy,” Magnus argues. “Perhaps it was unintentional swooping, but I’m a big believer in moral consequentialism, so ultimately the results are what matter here. I felt _swept,_ Alexander.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Alec says flatly, smiling a little and shaking his head. “Anyway, you’re on the right printer now. If you use it to print cat memes and slide them under my door again I’m going to disconnect you.”

“That’s fair,” Magnus allows.

⚣⌨⚣

Magnus spends several hours trying not to throw this whole file out the window and leave the country, getting as far as browsing airfares before he remembers that this is the mob. They’d probably find out and run his taxi off the road, or down his plane.

He hopes his father’s fucking mai tais are worth it.

“You look positively miserable, my friend.” Magnus looks up with a relieved sigh at the sound of Ragnor’s voice; they may antagonise one another as a well-loved hobby, but there’s nobody in the world Magnus trusts more. Although perhaps he shouldn’t trust him with his passwords anymore, now he comes to think of it.

“That’s probably because I _am_ positively miserable,” Magnus says with a wave of his hand, indicating the various comfortable chairs arranged on the other side of his desk. Ragnor takes one with a nod and then steeples his fingers, gazing at him speculatively.

“That look can only mean one of two things,” he begins, one eyebrow raised. “You’re either working a case given to you by your father that’s making you want to throw in the towel and flee the country, or you’ve fallen in love with someone wholly unsuitable again. I pray you tell me it’s the first, my dear fellow, as I’m not sure any of us would survive the fallout of a second Camille.” Magnus grimaces.

“You and I _both_ know I’ve given up on love entirely,” Magnus says with another wave of his hand, this one more vague and dramatic. “I shall wander this world alone for the rest of my days, defending criminals who don’t deserve my time but can, unfortunately, afford to monopolise it.” Ragnor shakes his head with a sigh and leans back a little further in his chair.

“Most people are not Camille,” he states plainly, and Magnus’s mind goes _immediately_ to Alec; he can’t think of anyone less like his demonic ex-girlfriend. He should probably be worried that a conversation about his ability to love again made him think about a man he’s known for less than two weeks, but he tries not to think about that too hard. Something must show on his face, however, because Ragnor narrows his eyes almost instantly. “Although I suspect you know that, old friend. Perhaps you have come to the realisation that she did not break you irreparably after all?”

“Hm,” Magnus says noncommittally, sliding the paper case file across the desk to Ragnor and tapping the pale blue folder with one painted fingernail. “Sellick case. I am to defend a man whose life I value even less than the life of whichever hippy surfer in the 1960s first acid washed their jeans.” Ragnor sucks in a breath and opens the file, grim expression only becoming harder as he flips through the pages.

“It seems to me that one cannot change the facts,” he says eventually, closing the folder and sliding it back across the desk. “There’s quite enough in there for the DA to prosecute, and more than enough for you to get the ungrateful wretch off, I’m afraid.”

“And my immortal soul must simply suffer the consequences?” Magnus asks with a sigh. Because really, Ragnor’s right; there’s nothing he can do that won’t get him in either a lot of legal trouble, or a lot of cement-booted trouble. Neither is a particularly inviting prospect.

“Cheer up, old boy,” Ragnor says with a wry half smile. “I have a free afternoon and _you_ have a bottle of particularly fine whiskey in that bottom drawer of yours. What say you and I have a look over the case together? I can attempt to shield your soul with whatever remnants of mine still cling to this plane, tattered though they may be.” Magnus lets himself smile, just for a brief moment, before he reaches down and removes said bottle and a couple of crystal tumblers from his desk.

“What would I do without you, Ragnor?”

“One can only guess,” he replies loftily, taking the glass of whiskey Magnus offers him and taking a long, slow sip before continuing. “I would imagine something very, very stupid.”

⚣⌨⚣

By 5.30pm they’ve come to the conclusion that Magnus is indeed fucked, and all he can hope for is that the case goes reasonably well for him, and that the DA’s office gets their man another day. It’s not a particularly _good_ conclusion, but the gentle buzz of high-quality alcohol in Magnus’s veins does help to ease the pain ever so slightly.

Ragnor leaves, citing a desperate need for his slippers and other home comforts, and Magnus packs away the case files before knocking back the rest of his drink and heading for the door himself. He grabs his jacket but doesn’t put it on, loosening his tie slightly in the hopes that it will help some of the heat left behind by the whiskey dissipate.

He isn’t expecting to meet anyone when he gets to the elevator, so he’s a little surprised to see someone tall and familiar stepping into it just ahead of him. Alec turns to the controls once inside, but leaves his hand hovering just over the buttons when he spots Magnus making his way over.

“I would have yelled ‘hold the doors’, but I was afraid you’d refuse just on principle,” Magnus says once he’s close enough that he’s sure Alec can hear him. The smirk that briefly passes over Alec’s face is confirmation enough that he’d been right. It is also, incidentally, very sexy indeed, and will probably be featuring in Magnus’s dreams later this evening.

“I can neither confirm nor deny this accusation,” he says without inflection, pressing the button for the first floor once Magnus is safely inside the elevator. Magnus really must be tired, because it’s only once they’ve juddered into motion and begun their descent that he realises Alec is wearing _glasses_. As if he isn’t already a devastating enough vision at the end of a hard day, now he has to go and look like something out of a sexy librarian fantasy. Magnus isn’t sure he’s had any of those, actually, but he’s sure as hell going to _now_.

“Come for a drink with me,” Magnus says quietly, before he can stop himself. Why the fuck not, really; it’s not like he doesn’t speak to Alec every day anyway, and they both know by now that it’s barely work-related. Alec’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“It’s Tuesday,” he says slowly, but he looks curious.

“We’re in an elevator,” Magnus shoots back, then raises his own eyebrows when Alec frowns. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were throwing random, irrelevant facts at each other. Yes, it’s Tuesday, but the case that’s on my desk right now is making it hard for me to sleep at night, and I’m absolutely gagging for a martini. Humour me, Alexander.”

Alec is looking at him a little differently now, and Magnus can’t figure out what’s changed, but when Alec shrugs and says, “yeah, alright,” he very quickly stops caring.

He takes Alec to the Hunter’s Moon because it’s close and Maia actually knows how to put together a decent cocktail, and fifteen minutes later he’s sitting in front of a martini while Alec presses his palms against the sweating glass of an IPA.

“There. It’s Tuesday, you have a beer, and nothing disastrous happened. The earth continues to rotate beneath our feet, Alexander. We have not brought about the end of days with our miscreant ways.” This doesn’t even come close to being the most miscreant thing he wants to do with Alec, but it’s certainly the safest. Alec rolls his eyes for what must be the hundredth time that day and takes a long pull of his beer; Magnus tries and fails not to watch the motion of his throat as he swallows.

“And you continue to be ridiculous,” Alec shoots back eventually, and Magnus smiles.

“So you take great delight in telling me.” Alec grins at him in response like he can’t help it, and Magnus’s heart stutters in his chest; he’d been right to think that a proper smile from the man opposite him could very well be his undoing. “Now sit there and look pretty while I complain about my day.” Alec looks a little flummoxed by that.

“Um, I can do at least one of those things?”

“Well alright, _stand_ and look pretty while I complain about my day,” Magnus amends with a wave of his hand. “Polka if you like, provided you can still hear the aforementioned complaining with perfect clarity.” Alec looks embarrassed now, and it hits Magnus that Alexander really doesn’t understand his own appeal. What an absurd concept.

“I can sit just fine,” he says eventually, picking at the label on his beer bottle like it will distract Magnus from this new and baffling information. “Most of my job is sitting. And listening to you lie to me about what’s gone wrong with your computer every other day.”

“Guilty as charged,” Magnus says with a blasé little shrug. Alec ducks his head with a little smile, and all Magnus can think is _‘there you are’_ as he tries to calm the pounding of his own heart.

⚣⌨⚣

In retrospect, the shots had probably been a bad idea. Magnus can hold his liquor like a champ, but it turns out Alec’s kind of a lightweight, for all that he’s built like a muscular, sexy tree. A tree Magnus desperately wants to climb.

“Okay, I need to tell you something,” Alec says a little louder than is really necessary; Magnus shushes him with a grin he can't keep off his face, in spite of the sombre tone of their conversations this evening. Alec frowns and then shakes his head as if to clear it, sliding out from his seat and jerking a thumb towards the bar. “I’m getting some water. Do you want some?”

“Please. But also, another martini. Extra dirty.”

“The point of the water is that it _replaces_ the other drinks,” Alec says with a sigh, but he returns a few moments later with a martini and two very large glasses of water nonetheless. “Extra dirty martini for the lush in booth seven,” he says drily, taking several large gulps of water and licking his lips absentmindedly afterwards. Magnus is beginning to suspect that Alec must have grown up in some kind of mirrorless prison, as he seemingly has no idea how attractive every atom of his existence is.

“Right, what did you want to tell me? Was it that I’m devastatingly handsome, because I actually already know that but I’m not averse to being told nice things by someone with a face like yours.” Alec gives him a look that could be described as venomous, but he’s been flushing pinker and pinker over the last hour, so it’s completely ineffective.

“I don’t think you need me to tell you how you look,” he says tartly. “Just… hear me out.” Alec then sighs, looking incredibly uncomfortable as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket and very briefly shows it to Magnus, before returning it to its hiding place.

An FBI badge. Alec works for the FBI.

Magnus’s first reaction is to wonder if he’s done something wrong; perhaps whatever fledgling friendship/relationship the two of them have is actually just a cover for whatever operation Alec’s working on - one that ends in Magnus being pulled in for questioning. Possibly with waterboarding. Then he realises almost as quickly that Alec wouldn’t be showing him his badge like he’s _ashamed_ of it, and he probably also wouldn’t be getting drunk at some bar with him on a work night.

Also, Magnus follows the letter of the law with his cases; or, on the rare occasions where he cannot, at least the spirit of it. He really hasn’t done anything wrong.

( _Also_ also, Magnus’s first reaction to this reveal was _actually_ “he’s a secret agent, fuck, that’s really hot,” but that’s hardly pertinent.)

“You know, I really _would_ have preferred the compliment,” Magnus says slowly, then downs the rest of his martini. 

“I’m telling you this because I trust you,” Alec says, wrinkling his nose and adding, “for some reason.”

“I do have one of those faces,” Magnus says with a nod and a hum, switching to water now it’s clear he’d be better served by _not_ getting shitfaced.

“We’re working with the DA’s office to try and make sure the case against someone particularly nasty holds up,” Alec sighs with a very pointed look at Magnus. There really is only one person that could be, and Magnus nods his understanding; Alec looks relieved, and continues after another gulp of his water. “The case really shouldn’t have gotten this far, but it seems like maybe we can help each other. I know who you’re trying to defend, and I also know you’re too good a man for that to sit right with you.”

“Most people who’ve met my father disagree with that on principle,” Magnus says softly, a little frisson of horror going down his spine when he remembers just what legacy is being passed down to him. “Certain things have been said about my blood that shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.” Alec suddenly looks incredibly angry.

“I don’t care who your dad is,” he says fiercely, and god if that fiery, self-righteous _goodness_ doesn’t do something for Magnus, “I care who _you_ are. And you’re _nothing_ like your father.” Magnus nods eventually, heart in his throat.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. You’re right. My father would never eat a croissant over his laptop.”

Alec stares at him for a second and then they’re both sniggering uncontrollably, Alec almost knocking his glass of water over as he reaches blindly for Magnus’s hand and squeezes, as though looking for something to ground him in this moment. Magnus feels simultaneously light as air and heavy with responsibility.

“Help me?” Alec asks eventually, as though Magnus hasn’t been his from the moment he bit back.

“How could I say no?” 


	4. You don't have to be mad to work here, but you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus goes briefly AWOL, and Alec's maybe a little snippy about. Magnus apologises. Thoroughly.

Magnus and Alec keep in fairly regular contact with each other after that - more so than before. Alec had made the objectively terrible decision to give Magnus his number and, after a slightly awkward moment outside the Hunter’s Moon where Magnus had very nearly kissed Alec on the mouth before getting a hold of himself, he’d abused the privilege without mercy.

Their text thread over the following week is a weird combination of very intense reports on criminal activity, cat memes, and stream of consciousness nonsense.

The latter two are perpetrated almost solely by Magnus, and he is _not_ ashamed.

**_Thursday_ **

**[From: Alexander] [06:32]**

_I know you don’t like the word ‘workaholic’, but I’m not sure how else you explain the fact that you were here before me this morning. I’m literally trying to infiltrate your organisation and you still got here first._

**[To: Alexander] [06:35]**

_You hardly have the monopoly on infiltrating our organisation. I’m also giving it a pretty good go, and excelling if I do say so myself._

**[06:37]**

_Also, the phrase ‘infiltrating your organisation’ is a bit dirty, now I come to think of it. Permission to make an incredibly filthy comment about you infiltrating my organisation?_

**[From: Alexander] [06:40]**

_Permission denied. Vehemently._

**_Friday_ **

**[To: Alexander] [12:28]**

_If you make the awful, terrible, no good trek over to my office in the next ten minutes, I can make it worth your while._

**[From: Alexander] [12:30]**

_I’m really not sure how to take that without incriminating myself._

**[To: Alexander] [12:31]**

_Take it however you want, but I’ve ordered Thai._

**[From: Alexander] [12:31]**

_OMW._

**_Sunday_ **

**[To: Alexander] [09:45]**

_Does ‘day of rest’ mean nothing to you? Do you so wholly disbelieve in a kind and loving god that you would so cruelly ignore the sacred nature of our country’s faith?_

**[From: Alexander] [09:47]**

_I literally just sent you a good morning text and asked you if you wanted me to bring you a burrito at lunch. What is wrong with you._

**[To: Alexander] [09:48]**

_...I’m mostly just mad they’re not breakfast burritos._

**[From: Alexander] [10:00]**

_Being friends with you is very hard work._

**[10:01]**

_There in 20. Be wearing pants this time. Please._

**_Monday_ **

**[From: Alexander] [09:36]**

_I just got the most recent crime scene photographs so I presume you’ll have them too. Magnus, I am so sorry. We’re going to… not fix it, I guess, but we’ll try for justice. I promise._

**[To: Alexander] [09:40]**

_Drinks after work. No excuses. You’re buying and I am going hard this time._

**[From: Alexander] [09:45]**

_What the fuck was last time._

**[To: Alexander] [09:46]**

_Child’s play._

⚣⌨⚣

By the time the following Wednesday comes around, Magnus has had to have a truly excruciating meeting with Sellick (who is as slick and oily as a well-blended rapeseed smoothie), has dodged several phone calls from his father, and is wondering if it’s too late to just call everything off and become… a monk or something. Religion is a protected characteristic, so if he combines that with his race and sexuality, it’s possible he could create a bubble of complete immunity to consequences.

Magnus might also be a _little_ bit delirious, given that he fell asleep at his desk on Tuesday night, and only wakes up because his phone’s ringing. It’s his desk phone, but that’s all he manages to parse out as he’s ripped from sleep. He doesn’t look at the caller ID, answering with a curt, “Bane,” to cover all bases. If it’s a client, he sounds busy and intimidating; if it’s the receptionist downstairs, he sounds busy and intimidating; if it’s Ragnor, he sounds busy and intimidating, and Ragnor can get a good laugh out of it.

He hadn’t really thought it would be Alec. He hopes he still sounds busy and intimidating, but given the sheer volume of cat memes Magnus has sent him in the last 48 hours alone, he thinks it’s unlikely.

_“You’re alive then,”_ Alec says flatly, and Magnus is about to say something sarcastic in response when he sees the time; it’s past 10am, which means it’s well past the time he usually calls Alec with a stupid, made-up IT problem.

Which means, Magnus thinks with a fluttering heart, Alec was worried about him. They’re horribly codependent already and Magnus is unreasonably delighted by this, even though he does feel a little bit guilty.

“Why, Alexander,” he says with a grin, free hand massaging the crick out of his neck, “were you concerned for my welfare?”

_“Why would I be?”_ Alec counters, sarcastic drawl firmly in place. _“You’re only working on an incredibly sensitive murder and arson case for a mob boss, after agreeing to collude with an undercover FBI agent who sits on the opposite_ side _of the case. Only an idiot would be concerned by that.”_

“Should you be saying these things over the phone?” Magnus says doubtfully, rolling his neck one final time and standing from his chair to stretch out the rest of his body. A few things audibly crack. “As your favourite lawyer, I feel I should tell you that these are _definitely_ not things you should be saying to me over the phone.” Alec’s snort is derisive.

_“I made this line secure the morning after we went for drinks,”_ he says. _“I swept your office for bugs too, but I should probably do that again in a couple days.”_

“It’s so hot when you say FBI stuff,” Magnus says idly, then spends the next thirty seconds or so enjoying Alec’s resulting choking fit.

_“Now I know you’re alive, I’m hanging up on you,”_ Alec manages to say eventually.

“You say the sweetest things to me, Agent Lightwood.” Alec makes a noise like a wounded animal and then the dial tone sounds. Well. That was interesting.

Magnus will be the first person to admit that he’s ended up in a position of overwhelming privilege. Sure, he’s smart and he worked hard to get the grades that he did, but his prestige is very much born of what his father has provided to him, as horrendous a concept as that may be to contemplate. He had a difficult childhood, but before he was even ten years old he was receiving the finest education money could buy, learning the family trade, and being told he deserved it because of who had ejaculated into his mother a decade prior.

Magnus would probably trade in his position for a lot of things; he really does want to make the world a better place. He finds himself in the unenviable position of having the money and resources, but perhaps not the scope to effect real change. His hands aren’t tied, precisely, but he can certainly feel the pressure on his wrists.

However, he does wonder if he would ever _truly_ be able to give up having a private bathroom attached to his office.

Once he’s completely clean, the taste of too little sleep purged from his mouth by peppermint, and a fresh shirt buttoned over his torso, he realises he should probably go and apologise to Alexander. The more he thinks about it, the worse he feels; how many of Alec’s colleagues have gone missing when they’ve been knee-deep in crime and deception, only to be found later in a ditch somewhere? Magnus is fine, obviously, but Alec hadn’t known that. They’re friends, at least, and that means something.

He makes his way over there as soon as he’s presentable, feeling a little like he should be bringing an apology gift but _also_ realising that’s one of his weird rich people impulses coming into play as a defence mechanism. Being him is really _weird_ sometimes. He’s full of contradictions.

When he gets to the IT department, he doesn’t bother knocking, just barges right in there like he has a right to do so - which is about when things go south, in a number of different ways. The series of events goes as follows:

Magnus opens the door with perhaps more force than is necessary, as is his wont, and enters the office with his head held high in spite of his uncharacteristic feelings of trepidation.

Alec, obviously not expecting anyone, swears violently and upends a very large mug of coffee onto himself, soaking the front of his shirt as he leaps to his feet.

Alec then proceeds to _drag the shirt over his head,_ leaving him half naked and slightly damp, the skin on his chest a little red but looking otherwise unharmed. 

Magnus’s mouth goes dry, pulse thundering in his throat, and he makes eye contact with Alec. This is a mistake.

“I came here to apologise, but I wasn’t expecting to commit additional misdemeanors,” Magnus says slightly breathlessly, thinking about how much he wants to lick the tattoo on Alec’s hip and also about how much he should _not_ be thinking about that. “Water. I’ll get water.”

He gets some water.

He also grabs a hand towel from the small WC round the corner on his way back, because he really is trying to be helpful, as much as this all stems from his inability to look at Alec while he’s shirtless without doing something irrevocable and foolish. His heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” Alec says when Magnus gets back to his desk, but Magnus quells him with a look and gently presses a cool, damp towel against the redness on his chest. Magnus has had sex more times than he can count, but nothing in his life has ever felt this intimate; he maintains steady eye contact with Alec’s clavicle and tries to ignore the overwrought rhythm of his heart, pulsing against his ribs and the roof of his mouth. “Hey,” Alec says, quieter now, sliding one of his hands over Magnus’s where it’s clenched in thick, rough cotton. “I’m _fine_. Really. You just surprised me.”

Magnus looks up at him then, and this too is a grave error. Alec’s hazel eyes are warm, and there’s a rueful half smile on his face, like they’re both in on some kind of shared, private joke. He’s beautiful, even in the frankly disgusting strip lighting of the small room, and Magnus is powerless against the draw of it.

When Alec kisses him, it feels inevitable, like they’ve been stuck in each other’s orbit since they met, and only now are they lining up and letting gravity do its work. They’ve been moving towards this point since the second Magnus picked up his desk phone all those weeks ago, and a shudder runs through him, a whine pressing at the back of his throat when he realises he’s pretty much wanted _exactly_ this since he first heard Alec’s voice on the phone. 

He presses closer on autopilot, the damp towel held between them dropping to the floor with a wet thud as Magnus moves his hands to slide firmly into Alec’s hair. Alec’s hands are on his hips, then his thighs, lifting him so he can settle on the desk, and Magnus spreads his legs so Alec can settle between them and change the angle of the kiss to something truly mind blowing.

It’s like being thrown into the heart of a burning star, Magnus thinks wildly, gasping as Alec bites down on his lower lip and runs one of his hands up Magnus’s body to clutch desperately at his shoulder, his neck, his hair.

When Alec moves away for a moment to breathe, Magnus feels like someone’s turned off his supply of oxygen. Then Alec moves down to his neck, and suddenly he’s wondering why he ever thought oxygen was a _priority;_ he’d learn to photosynthesize if it meant having this every second of every day until he dies.

“I nearly kissed you at the Hunter’s Moon last week,” Magnus gasps, clawing at Alec’s back as he sinks his teeth into Magnus’s neck. He feels split open and raw just from this, and a shudder goes through him when he realises just how vulnerable he’s made himself; how much further he’d go in spite of how flayed alive it makes him feel.

When Alec pulls back, it’s just to say, “why the hell didn’t you?”

“I was being restrained and noble-”

Alec kisses him again, something a little furious in the pressure of it as he sweeps his tongue across Magnus’s lips and sends sparks up the place where Magnus’s spine had once been; it’s completely liquid now, the only thing holding him up the hands on his waist and neck, Alec’s body in front of him a solid point of contact in a raging storm.

“Please don’t _ever_ be noble at me again,” Alec says brokenly, and Magnus wonders vaguely if they’re the only things keeping each other afloat right now; wonders if he’s not the only one at sea. Magnus kisses Alec again and again, draws him in by his hair and by his hips, gasping and desperate at the hot pressure everywhere, even though it’s not _enough_.

It takes a door slamming somewhere nearby and a computer mouse digging into Magnus’s ass to wake him up; unfortunately, when he realises where they are, it doesn’t actually help. Has he had some incredibly specific fantasies about Alec taking him on this very desk? Yes, he absolutely has, and his current proximity to _fulfilling_ said fantasies is making it hard to care about things like someone walking in, or getting unsavoury fluids on important documents.

“We probably shouldn’t do this here,” he says reluctantly, following this sentence up with a kiss that devolves very quickly into something hot, wet, and irreverent. Magnus pushes Alec back into his chair and climbs on top of him, knees on either side of Alec’s thighs, his pulse hammering and his breath barely under control even as he melts back into a kiss that has his skin prickling with want.

Another door slams, a little closer now, and Alec jerks away from him like he’s been slapped. He’s breathing hard, eyes a little glazed over, the marks on his chest having long since faded into obscurity in the wake of a flush that’s spreading from his neck to his torso. His mouth, already horribly tempting at the best of times, is now red and a little swollen where Magnus’s own lips and teeth have done their work. He looks like every one of Magnus’s wet dreams come to life, and being able to feel how hard he is definitely isn’t helping the whole ‘stop touching up your secret agent employee in his office’ plan.

It’s a terrible plan and Magnus hates it, but he climbs off Alec’s lap anyway, taking a step back on shaky legs and leaning against the edge of the desk. 

“I’m not sure where this is going to have to go in my field report,” Alec says eventually, standing up and placing a tentative hand on Magnus’s cheek. Alec is shaking just a little, the vibrations of it translating into the slightest quiver in his touch. Magnus closes his eyes against everything that simple press of skin on skin makes him feel, because he doesn’t know what to do with it right now.

Alec ends up kissing him again for several long minutes like he can’t help himself, and by the time Magnus gets back to his office he’s pretty sure he has enough jerk off material for the rest of his life. Possibly also for the afterlife. Are you allowed to jerk off in the afterlife?

He almost asks Ragnor this question, which is about when he realises he needs to calm the fuck down.

He sits at his desk and just breathes for a while, trying to focus on the Sellick case so he at least _looks_ like he’s doing his job for a while. It’s hard to concentrate when he can still feel the phantom press of Alec’s lips against his, but he does his best for the rest of the day.

⚣⌨⚣

**[From: Alexander] [17:54]**

_Tell me you’re not still looking at the Sellick file._

**[To: Alexander] [17:55]**

_I’m not still looking at the Sellick file._

**[From: Alexander] [17:55]**

_Okay, now try again. With the truth._

**[To: Alexander] [17:57]**

_From a legal standpoint, my response was watertight. I am, however, absolutely looking at the Sellick file - I’ll go home in a few minutes, I promise. I have plans for this evening that involve my excellent eidetic memory and my thousand thread count sheets._

**[17:59]**

_Just so we’re clear, I’m going to jerk off to thoughts of you pushing me onto your desk._

**[From: Alexander] [18:01]**

_I nearly walked into a wall just now, please stop._

**[To: Alexander] [18:02]**

_If you aren’t walking into something, I’m losing my touch._

**[From: Alexander] [18:05]**

_We should probably talk about this._

**[To: Alexander] [18:06]**

_This weekend? We could get Italian at Rizzo’s and I could force you to watch Vertigo._

**[From: Alexander] [18:08]**

_It’s a date._

**[18:09]**

_It is a date, right?_

**[To: Alexander] [18:10]**

_Yes, Alexander, it’s a date._

When Magnus does eventually leave the office it’s pushing 7 o’clock, but he feels lighter than air. He and Alec have a _date_ scheduled for this weekend. There will likely be more making out, if Magnus has any say in the matter, and given the way things were going before, there is every possibility that more may be on the table.

In retrospect, the cloud of euphoria is probably what makes it so easy for Sellick’s boys to jump him right outside the building.


	5. The ‘napping’ in ‘kidnapping’ is a misnomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus is in a spot of trouble, and while it is most definitely his fault, he can at least blame Alec for his brain feeling like soup. That's on him.

It’s as much a surprise to Magnus as it is to anyone else that he’s never been kidnapped before. They deal with a lot of pretty sensitive cases at Edom, and while this is the first time he’s had to represent the mob, it’s far from the first time his _father_ has done so. Magnus has been in martial arts since he was ten, which he’d been told was because his dad was very important, and someone might try and take him for leverage.

He’s really not sure which parts of his childhood are the most depressing, now he thinks about it.

Unfortunately, none of his martial arts lessons had covered ‘what to do if your brain is a souped up mess of sex hormones when you get attacked, because a boy you really like touched your neck and macked on you for a while.’

Which is how Magnus finds himself in the unenviable position of being tied to a chair for distinctly _not_ fun reasons, surrounded by unsavoury men and wondering when the punching is going to start.

“This is nice,” Magnus says brightly, beaming around at the assembled henchmen. His smile falters only slightly when he sees Sellick behind the desk opposite him, but he recovers well; the fact that _he’s_ here is either very bad or very good. Very bad because they’re going to kill him and Sellick wants to make sure the job’s done properly, or very good because Sellick is _way_ too smart to actually be around when his goons are killing people.

The fact that Sellick can probably leave the room at any time makes that second prospect a little less comforting.

“Asmodeus,” Sellick begins from behind his desk, after staring at Magnus for a while with eyes like oil on water, “assured me my case would be handled by the best. He _also_ assured me that you - his beloved son - were exactly that. The best.”

“Funny how people are much happier to talk up their kids to other people than actually compliment them directly, isn’t it?” Magnus says with a sigh, which earns him his first punch to the stomach. It _hurts_ , because of course it does, forcing most of the air from his lungs and leaving him coughing for several minutes. He doesn’t taste blood yet, but he’s sure it’s only a matter of time.

“He said you were smart,” Sellick continues as though Magnus hasn’t spoken. “Right now all I’m seeing is a rat with no moral principles.” Magnus doesn’t snort, but it’s a close thing; he’s being lectured by a member of the _mob_ on his _moral principles_. It’s like the start of a bad joke; a lawyer and a mob boss walk into a bar - who ends up paying the tab?

If Magnus weren’t literally tied to a chair, he could probably take out a few of these guys and get to the door, provided the thing’s actually unlocked. Of course, he _is_ tied to a chair, the door _could_ be locked, and every single one of the people in this room is going to be discreetly armed to the teeth. It’s almost flattering really.

“I’m not sure where you’re getting your information,” Magnus says with another smile, all teeth, “but all I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks is going over your case and building a strong defence. That’s my job. I am in fact very good at it, which is why my father handed it over to me.”

Well, actually, he mostly did that so he could go and bang Amanda on a beach somewhere, but that doesn’t seem like the thing to say right now.

Apparently what he _did_ say wasn’t the thing to say either, because he gets another punch to the stomach for his trouble, and a stinging blow to his jaw. Stars explode behind his eyes and he grits his teeth against the prickle of pained, frustrated tears. This time he _does_ taste blood, a metallic film of it already coating his tongue.

“We’re gonna have a nice chat for the next hour or so,” Sellick says easily, smiling like he’s having a particularly light and pleasant conversation with a colleague about the weather, or the Yankees’ chances next season. “Then I think you’ll better understand the gravity of the situation. You’ve put me in quite the predicament, you see Mr Bane.”

“Heaven forfend,” Magnus says gravely, and it’s no surprise at all when the next hit comes. His report cards all through school had read ‘performs well in class but struggles not to talk back,’ and sadly he has learned absolutely _nothing_ from that. 

Magnus is distantly relieved when he blacks out ten minutes later.

⚣⌨⚣

When he comes to, he has no idea how much time has passed, but there are fewer people in the room now. Sellick is still behind his desk, going through paperwork like this is a regular Wednesday evening for him - which, Magnus supposes, it probably is - and there are maybe four other people in here with him. While the odds are certainly better now, Magnus suspects he has at least two cracked ribs, and his left leg isn’t feeling great either. Also, he’s still tied to a chair. All in all, he’d say he’s probably just as fucked as he had been when they first brought him here, which is a harrowing thought, if an unsurprising one.

Well, at least if he dies here he’ll have had one really steamy makeout session with Alexander before he goes; looking back, he really should have done that sooner. They could probably have progressed to something even more life-altering before Magnus got pushed off this mortal coil by a bunch of gun-toting white men.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room stands to attention, turning to the door with a look of dawning suspicion. Everyone else follows suit, even Sellick deigning to look up from his paperwork for a moment, and Magnus turns his head as much as the pain in his jaw will allow.

There’s a noise just on the edge of his hearing, which is _also_ a little bit fucked right now thanks to a flat-handed blow to his left ear, and he can’t quite place it. It sounds a little like thunder, but more regular and rhythmic.

 _Ah,_ he thinks glumly. _Gunfire._ It’s not enough that he’s been kidnapped and tortured, he now has to get caught in the middle of some kind of turf war while wearing one of his second-best shirts. The only thing stopping this from being the worst Wednesday in Magnus’s life is the reminder that he was in the lap of a half-naked Alec this morning, which will at least mean his day hasn’t been a _total_ write-off.

Even if he dies here, which is looking more and more likely with every passing second.

The sounds of what is _definitely_ gunfire get closer, and everyone in the room bar Magnus is suddenly scrambling for a weapon. Magnus thinks, just for a moment, that if _this_ is what organised crime looks like, he’d like to see _dis_ organised crime - and then the door is flying open.

Alec steps into the room like some kind of avenging angel, haloed in the brighter lights of the hallway and taking out Sellick at the knee before getting another man in the foot. Two other agents are behind Alec in seconds, and Magnus barely has time to blink before the newcomers have laid to ground every one of Sellick’s men in the room.

Alec is in front of him a moment later, hands gentle on his face and body as he checks for injuries, the other agents sweeping the room with practiced ease to ensure everyone’s incapacitated.

“Cracked ribs, dislocated knee-” Ah, that’s what that is then- “and so many fucking bruises, Jesus _Christ_ , Mags. You couldn’t have just stopped being sarcastic for like an hour until I could get here?” Alec’s hands are shaking a little as he brushes his fingers softly across what is no doubt an absolutely _killer_ bruise on Magnus’s jaw, the lightness of his touch at odds with the brittleness of his words.

“My guardian angel,” Magnus says with a smile that tugs at his split lip, and Alec may roll his eyes but he’s clearly blushing even as he moves away to untie Magnus’s hands. Once the ropes are gone, Alec comes back to kneel in front of him, carefully moving Magnus’s arms forward and massaging the stiffness out of his joints as he does so.

“Hey, guardian angel,” one of the agents says with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin, “we’ve got Sellick and his guys as secure as they’re gonna get. Izzy and I can finish up here if you want to get your man to the hospital transport outside.”

“He’s not _my man_ ,” Alec says through gritted teeth.

“I am _absolutely_ your man,” Magnus argues, delirious with blood loss, affection, and the euphoria of being saved from certain death. “I don’t let just _anyone_ at the office kiss me on their desk, you know - what do you take me for?” The woman, presumably Izzy, makes a noise of unbridled delight at that, even as Alec’s face reddens.

“Oh, we’re gonna have a little talk later, Alec,” she says, in a voice that promises retribution should he attempt to escape. Alec doesn’t deign to give her a response, instead staring at Magnus with unwavering focus.

“If you lean on me, do you think you can walk out of here?” he asks quietly, and Magnus’s heart flutters in his chest at the concern he hears there. 

Unfortunately, the answer to that ends up being ‘no,’ as his left leg is completely out of commission and his right seems to be following suit out of spite. Alec sighs and, looking defeated and a little bit embarrassed, very carefully scoops Magnus up into his arms. It jostles his fractured ribs slightly and he bites back a hiss of pain, but nothing bad seems to happen, and it’s not like Magnus is going to complain about being cradled against Alec’s glorious chest.

“Goodbye, other agents,” Magnus says gravely as he’s carried towards the door. “May we never meet again in such circumstances. Next time there should be margaritas, at least.” Izzy is openly laughing now and the blond guy is grinning widely, knocking off a sloppy salute as Magnus is carried out of sight.

“You on pain medication is going to be an experience,” Alec mutters as he takes Magnus down a series of corridors and, eventually, out into a carpark illuminated by flashing lights and filled with the babble of voices. Magnus winces and turns his face a little further into Alec’s chest, which he is _allowed_ to do because he’s just been _tortured for information._ Also, Alec’s tac vest is extremely well-cushioned, and fatigue is currently hitting him like a sledgehammer.

Magnus is eventually manoeuvred out of Alec’s arms and onto a gurney. He gets given some morphine while stern-looking medical professionals cut off his shirt and start probing at the bruises on his torso, which is awful, and then they’re bundling him into the back of an ambulance like a microwave burrito.

Magnus feels something in his chest settle when he realises Alec’s climbed in right alongside him.

“Hey,” Magnus says quietly, a little slurred, movements sloppy and uncoordinated when he reaches for Alec’s hand. Alec takes it in his, squeezing gently, and Magnus feels the hurt recede a little more. “How’d you find me? Did you follow your heart or something equally Hallmark-appropriate?” Alec rolls his eyes and Magnus tries not to grin because it hurts his face.

“I may have slipped a tracker into your pocket,” Alec admits, looking less than jazzed to be having this conversation all of a sudden. Magnus frowns.

“When-”

“In my office,” Alec answers quickly, and Magnus realises now why he looks so awkward.

“Did you use my massive crush on you as a diversion for planting a tracker about my person, Agent Lightwood?” Magnus asks with a frown, and Alec’s shaking his head and shuffling a little closer before he’s even finished the sentence.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing Magnus’s hand again. “I’m not a total asshole. That was… not part of the plan. I mean, neither was you getting kidnapped, but we figured out someone in our organisation had been passing information to Sellick, so I had to act pretty fast, in case they tried something with you. I wasn’t expecting… the rest of it.” Magnus snorts and then wishes he hadn’t, because it feels awful.

“I wasn’t expecting you to get halfway to sleeping with me during office hours either, but I was very much on board with it.”

“You weren’t meant to be part of any of this, and when you got embroiled in everything… I wasn’t expecting to _like_ you,” Alec says softly, and Magnus’s heart lurches almost painfully in his chest. All traces of levity are gone from this conversation now. “I wasn’t expecting you to work with me once you knew who I really was. And I really wasn’t expecting to _want_ you like I did. Like I _do.”_ Magnus doesn’t know what to say, but the morphine’s really taking effect now so it’s probably not a surprise that he opens his mouth to speak anyway.

“I really like you in a tac vest. Didn’t know that was going to be a thing, but I’m rather afraid it might be.” Alec just rolls his eyes, looking a little pleased, and squeezes his hand again.

⚣⌨⚣

Time fragments a little after that, and Magnus must be completely out by the time they arrive at the hospital; he doesn’t remember getting from the ambulance to a ward, but that’s where he is when he comes to, mouth dry and eyelids feeling like sandpaper.

He’s on a drip with fluids and something he hopes is more morphine, his leg feels sore but definitely less _weird_ than before, and he’s pretty sure his chest is bandaged up. He aches everywhere.

There is also a familiar face by his bedside, though Magnus is a little disappointed that it isn’t Alec.

“Lucian,” Magnus says in a rasping voice, nodding to the man in question and regretting it almost instantly. “The DA himself visiting my sickbed! To what do I owe the honour?” Lucian Graymark looks up at the sound of Magnus’s voice and immediately stands to hand him a glass of water with a frown. Magnus takes it gratefully, and after a few sips feels marginally less like the physical embodiment of the Sahara. “Thanks.”

“I was part of the debriefing with Agents Lightwood and Wayland last night,” Lucian begins without any preamble, setting the glass of water back on Magnus’s nightstand; Magnus realises with a start that it’s light outside. He must have been out for quite a while. “I’ve come to thank you for your part in everything. We might not be able to put Sellick away for life just yet, but catching him in the act gives him absolutely no room for appeal, and that gives us a good starting point.”

“I can’t say I’d do it again, Lucian,” Magnus says drily, “given that my main ‘part’ in all this, as you say, was getting my ribs broken.”

“Fractured,” Lucian says with a small smile. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“It’s like you don’t know me at _all,”_ Magnus says with a raised eyebrow. It pulls at something around his eye, and he realises he’s probably got a few stitches there; he’s sure he looks an absolute mess. Perhaps it’s a good thing Alec’s not here right now. “Besides,” he continues with a grimace as he tries to pull himself into a seated position, “I was the one _defending_ the brute, if you recall. I should have said no to my father, but as usual I found myself unable to do so.”

“You were doing your job,” Lucian says firmly, placing a careful hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “Which reminds me - how would you like to come and work for the DA’s office? The pay is terrible, but you and I both know you don’t need the money. You’d be doing good work - work that helps people - and it would be more on the prosecution side than defence. I know you prefer it.” Magnus eyes him with utter disbelief.

“That’s your pitch?” he says incredulously. “I’m honestly shocked you have any underlings at all, Lucian, if that’s how you reel them in.” The DA raises one conspiratorial eyebrow.

“We also work pretty closely with the FBI and local law enforcement,” he says casually. “I hear that’s a bonus for some people.” Magnus tries to look like he’s uninterested, but it takes him all of five seconds to break.

“Where do I sign?”

⚣⌨⚣

Alec visits him later that day, looking very soft and vulnerable in a thin green sweater and jeans, and Magnus wants him so fiercely it takes his breath away. 

“I’ve been offered a position at the DA’s office,” Magnus says once it’s been established that no amount of wheedling will get Alec to climb into bed with him while he has fractured ribs. “I’ve decided to take it. It’s all very noble and not at all in my wheelhouse, but I’m willing to learn.” Alec snorts.

“Yeah, nothing noble about you,” he says ruefully, thumb stroking absentmindedly over the ridges of Magnus’s knuckles. “You got laid into by the mob and didn’t even tell them your star sign, Magnus.”

“I’m a Taurus,” he says helpfully. “Stubborn, possessive, uncompromising. Hung like a-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Alec interrupts him, looking pained. Magnus grins, ignoring how it pulls at things he probably shouldn’t be pulling at, and moves his hand a little so he can thread his fingers through Alec’s.

“None of this would have happened without you.” Alec looks briefly horrified and Magnus rolls his eyes. “Not the kidnapping thing - that was probably only a matter of time in mine and my father’s line of work - but the rest? I’d been disillusioned with my job for quite some time, and you pushed me to do better, Alexander. Turns out you can’t spell ‘fuck it’ without IT,” Magnus says with deadly sincerity, and Alec gives him such a drily disgusted look that he almost loses it completely.

“Magnus, you can’t do anything at _all_ without IT.”

“Maybe IT wants to come over here and say that to my face.”

“I don’t know why I like you,” Alec says with a sigh, but he obediently stands from his chair and leans over Magnus to drop a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. Magnus is a little ashamed of how much the heart monitor picks up.

Alec completely ruins everything, of course, when he insists that they stay apart from each other until Magnus’s ribs are healed and he’s back on his feet, sticking to texting and phone calls for a while. 

“That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard,” Magnus argues, trying very hard to sit up a little more in bed so he can at least _feel_ imposing, “and my father once told me I had to call a woman three years my junior ‘mummy’. It was ludicrous.”

“I just think it would be a good idea if we got to know each other without… getting carried away,” Alec says with a sigh, but his gaze skitters away from Magnus like he can’t make eye contact, and there’s a telltale flush to his cheeks. When Magnus realises _why_ , he feels like Christmas has come early.

“You can’t control yourself around me,” he says delightedly, and Alec’s glare is nowhere near stern enough to detract from the fact that Magnus is absolutely, 100% correct.

“Maybe I don’t think _you_ can control yourself around _me,”_ Alec counters, which is simultaneously a weak argument and factually accurate.

“Oh you’re absolutely right,” Magnus agrees, “but I’m sure I can learn restraint. Delayed gratification has its place. Can you?” Alec slumps back in his seat and folds his arms defensively across his chest, frowning. He continues to look edible even in the throes of a quietly indignant hissy fit.

“Yes,” he says stubbornly, making very brief eye contact before sighing and breaking it again. “No. I haven’t-” Alec swallows, still avoiding Magnus’s eyes, one of his hands clenching a little where it rests on his bicep. “I haven’t felt like this about anyone before. I’m not necessarily… handling it well.” Magnus’s heart is really getting a workout today.

“This is new for me too,” he says softly, and it’s only as he says it that he realises how true it is. Alec makes him feel good down to his core, like he’s a better version of himself simply by association; he’s not sure the Magnus of a few weeks ago would have been strong enough to leave his cushy position at Edom for the DA’s office, but that’s what he’s doing.

He supposes, then, the least he can do is follow Alec’s dumb rules.

“Thank you,” Alec says sincerely when Magnus agrees to his terms. “I just really don’t want to hurt you, and you make me a bit crazy.” The look in Alec’s eyes when he says that leaves Magnus in no doubt as to what specific brand of crazy, and he’s very excited to explore that further. When his ribs have healed.

Fuck.

⚣⌨⚣

Five weeks later - a whole week before Magnus is due to be officially discharged from the hospital - he’s given a clean bill of health. His bruises have all but faded, his ribs have healed remarkably well, and the swelling around his knee is almost completely gone.

Which of course means he finds himself knocking on Alec’s door at 3pm on a Thursday, only hours after receiving this news. There’s only so much that texting and phone calls can replace, and he’s very ready to get to know Alec in much less wholesome ways.

“Magnus?” Alec sounds surprised but not displeased when he opens the door, eyes drawn seemingly automatically to where Magnus’s injuries had been just a handful of weeks ago. Alec is wearing sweatpants that ride low on his hips, and Magnus suspects that the shirt covering up his torso is a recent addition to the ensemble, given that one side of it is rucked up over his hip, like he put it on to answer the door. He should look like an underdressed frat boy, but instead he looks like sex on legs.

“Right in one, Alexander.” Magnus makes a sweeping gesture at himself and is gratified to see Alec’s gaze follow the motion, before his eyes snap back up to meet Magnus’s. “Good as new. Better, probably, because now I have some cool scars and also the very replayable fantasy of you kicking down a door to come and save me from certain death.” Alec’s face flushes and he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in a way that draws Magnus’s eyes to his biceps; he remembers those arms around him with surprising clarity given how much he’d just been whaled on at the time. Magnus leans forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll admit you’re not wearing much in the fantasy version. It’s literally just the tac vest and a thigh holster.”

“Magnus, you weren’t meant to come anywhere near me until you were healed,” Alec says firmly, cheekbones still prettily pink. “Also, clearly you’ve received some sort of brain damage if you think I kicked down a door that was already unlocked.”

“You’re missing the point here,” Magnus says, waving a hand in the air. 

“There was a point to this?”

“The point is,” Magnus continues brightly, as though Alec hasn’t said anything, “that I’m better. Completely. Thanks to you and your team, and a whole plethora of very patient doctors and nurses. I’ve been discharged from the hospital and am allowed to resume all normal activities. _And_ start some new ones.”

Then he pushes Alec back into his apartment with a hand on his chest and steps across the threshold, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen up pals - the next chapter is going to be nothing but loving eye contact and smut. Feel free to jump off this train here if you're not up for that, because we are basically completely done with the plot.


	6. Taking things slow is for glaciers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus has been ready for this since Alec told him to shut up and let him fix his computer.

Alec, to his credit, gets with the programme pretty quickly, and Magnus finds himself being kissed against the closed door without any further arguments.

“If something hurts, you _tell me,”_ Alec says breathlessly, dragging his teeth over Magnus’s bottom lip as he pulls away slightly, sliding his hands very carefully underneath the front of Magnus’s shirt. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Magnus breathes, then pulls Alec back in before he can convince himself Magnus isn’t ready for this. He’s been ready for weeks, and Alec’s stupid, endearing texts have only made things worse; he’s so sarcastic and kind, and Magnus needs Alec inside him in the next ten minutes or he might die. Alec pulls away again for long enough to ask if he wants to go to the bedroom or not, because they don’t _have_ to do this now - and it’s such a stupid, considerate question that Magnus is almost _annoyed_ about it.

“You’re so _thoughtful,”_ Magnus says in a voice that would sound horrified if he could draw breath - like such concern and open communication is awful and not at all making him feel the safest he’s ever been with another person. “I feel violated. The least you could do now is _actually_ violate me.” Alec laughs a little at that, leaning down to press a brief, hard kiss against Magnus’s mouth before pulling away.

“So that’s a yes to the bedroom?”

“It is,” Magnus says, then leans in to press his lips very gently to the skin of Alec’s jaw, enjoying the shudder that passes through him at the pressure. “Take me to bed, Agent Lightwood.”

It turns out that’s kind of a thing for both of them.

Alec takes his time getting Magnus out of his clothes - partially, it would seem, because he can barely stand to be away from his mouth for more than a few seconds at a time. Magnus very much knows the feeling. In between kisses that scorch away the last traces of Magnus’s ability to speak in full sentences, Alec rids them both of their shoes and socks, then gently slides his palms over the mottled bruising on Magnus’s chest to take off his shirt. He looks sobered by the image, fingers tracing the edges of the yellowing marks with a frown, and Magnus pulls him down by his neck to kiss away his guilty sadness.

“I’m okay,” Magnus murmurs against his lips, kissing him again and again until they’re both gasping and Alec is shaking above him, mouth hot and pliant under Magnus’s. They manage to get Alec’s shirt off through a combined effort, then their jeans, sweatpants, and underwear, until finally there’s nothing else to take off.

“God, Magnus, you’re so beautiful,” Alec gasps against him, and the aching honestly of the compliment combined with the feeling of teeth against his neck has Magnus arching up with a whine. He feels broken open and vulnerable, like something in him could shatter at any moment, and the only thing keeping him afloat is the same thing that’s taking him apart.

“Did you grow up without _mirrors,”_ he counters, dragging Alec away from his neck to kiss him fiercely before the other man can respond. Alec is all sharp angles and muscle, coiled strength and the quiet before a storm. He’s electric, and Magnus’s body responds to him so quickly and easily it’s like they’ve done this a hundred times before; his body _knows_ this man. 

“Tell me what you want,” Alec says urgently, eyes wild and pupils blown. He licks his lips like it’s not even _conscious_ , like he doesn’t know how devastatingly sexy he is, and Magnus is suddenly fiercely grateful to the set of circumstances that led them to this moment. He’s pretty sure he’d take a beating like that all over again if that’s what it would take to get Alexander Lightwood’s sinful mouth moving against his.

“I want you inside me,” Magnus says with a shuddering breath, and Alec’s eyes go darker somehow, impossibly black and wanting.

“Fuck, okay,” Alec says with a soft exhalation. “I can do that.”

“No pressure, but I’ve been imagining this for at least five weeks,” Magnus says helpfully, trying in vain to keep some semblance of sanity as Alec slicks up his fingers and starts to open him up. “Never mind, already better, oh my _god.”_ It’s so good, almost too much, even though it’s only one finger; but it’s Alec, not some imagined version of him, and he’s taking his time like he wants Magnus to fall apart just like this. Magnus feels like he _might._

“Was so desperate for you, in my office,” Alec says with an enviable calm, his voice only breaking a little when Magnus pushes back against the intrusion of a second finger with a soft gasp. “Fuck, I couldn’t… You’re just so beautiful and the noises you made even when it was just me _kissing you-”_ He breaks off with an almost wounded sound when Magnus grinds back against his hand again and doesn’t seem able to say anything else after that.

The third finger is almost enough, and Magnus is already on edge, but he wants to wait, needs Alec inside him before he can let go. “Alexander, _please.”_ Thankfully, Alec doesn’t need to be asked twice.

The feeling of Alec settling inside him is like nothing else. Magnus is the furthest thing from a virgin it’s possible to be, but this feels like the first time, for all that it might be the hundredth. He’s suddenly absolutely certain that he’ll never want anybody else like this ever again; this is _it_.

“I’m gonna-” Alec starts to say, voice strained, and Magnus says _“yes”_ and then forgets how to say pretty much anything else when Alec starts moving. Every roll of Alec’s hips is careful and considered, and Magnus feels a bit like he’s drowning; he’s trying to be an active participant here, but he finds himself unable to do much beyond grabbing at whatever part of Alec he can reach and pulling him into increasingly messy, uncoordinated kisses. 

Alec’s trying so hard to be gentle with him, and Magnus can feel the mounting pressure of keeping up this beautiful, calculated pace begin to take its toll. Alec is shaking, and Magnus wants to tell him it’s okay, that he can take it, but he can’t make his mouth work. Instead, he just moves back against Alec’s thrusts with increasing urgency, digging his fingers into the hard muscles of Alec’s back and scraping his teeth across the sweat slicked skin at Alec’s neck and shoulders.

Alec breaks, and Magnus is suddenly very aware that he’s in bed with someone who probably trains his body to do impossible things several times a week.

Alec suddenly seems to be everywhere at once, holding himself above Magnus with one arm and using his free hand to grasp Magnus’s jaw and angle his face for a spine-meltingly good kiss; each thrust of his hips is longer now, harder and more punishing as he licks into Magnus’s mouth and takes him apart cell by cell. Magnus knows he asked for this, and he still wants it with every fibre of his being, but he’s also slightly worried he might pass out with how good it all feels.

He’s so keyed up, has been ready for this for so _fucking long_ , that all Alec has to do is breathlessly ask him if he’s close and Magnus is _there._ He comes with a gasping breath that sorely tests his newly healed ribs, his whole body lighting up beneath Alec as he struggles to stay present, the sheer overwhelming pleasure of it threatening to pull him under. Alec is murmuring nonsense in his ear, voice strained and then _broken_ as he follows Magnus over the edge, words turning from nonsense to Magnus’s name, uttered on repeat as his hips lose their rhythm entirely.

Magnus has never been particularly good at the _after_ part of sex, and that’s down in part to the way Camille had treated him when they’d been together. Magnus craves connection and he’s been pushed away enough times, called “clingy” just as often, that he doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants anymore.

Alec is so careful with him afterwards that Magnus doesn’t know what to do with everything he’s feeling. It’s too soon to say, ‘I love you’, but he knows that’s probably what’s unwinding in his chest when Alec lies beside him, moving him with gentle hands until they’re pressed together, legs intertwined and barely a breath of space between them.

“This okay?” Alec asks quietly, like he’s not giving Magnus everything he wants without him having to ask for a damn thing. Magnus just nods and presses his face into Alec’s chest with a shaky breath. He’s not sure ‘okay’ really covers it, but it’ll do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan for this chapter was literally just the following:
> 
> "Is this just going to be a chapter where they bang a lot and exchange heartfelt love confessions? Yes, absolutely. I’m not sure I really need to plot this one out. This shit writes itself."
> 
> Ah, the creative process. Hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for the fun prompt, tintagel, even though I changed it so much as to be barely recognisable. PSYCH.


End file.
